


Masturbation

by katsudonfemmefatale



Series: 30 Day NSFW Challenge (Victuuri) [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 30 Day NSFW Challenge, Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, One Shot Collection, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsudonfemmefatale/pseuds/katsudonfemmefatale
Summary: It's the day before the Hot Springs on Ice showdown, and Yuuri still can't find his Eros.Late at night, he sees something that changes everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for your amazing comments on my previous stuff <3  
> This was meant to be short but it turned out longer than anticipated! Whoops!

Yūri couldn’t sleep.  
He twisted and turned in his bed, pulling the sheets up, pushing them back down, stretching out, curling into a ball… it was no use. He couldn’t get comfortable.  
This wasn’t like him. Yūri never had trouble sleeping. Even when confronted by stress, insomnia hadn’t been a problem. In fact, Yuri’s go-to stress response seemed to _be_ to crawl into his bed, turn off his phone and sleep the problem away. This is what he had done when the video of him skating Stay Close to Me leaked, and it’s what he wanted to do now.

Viktor’s words from today echoed in his mind:  
_“Yuri! Try to imagine entangling more of the egg! Think of the pork cutlet bowl!”_  
His face flushed. He wished he had never brought up Katsudon. What was he thinking? The programme was _Eros. Sexual love._ He had basically just told his idol, the best figure skater in the world, _Viktor Nikiforov_ , that he was _turned on_ by food. His hands covered his face completely.  
He was 23; why hadn’t he figured this out by now? Even his innocent-looking best friend Phichit had had trysts Yūri had to make himself scarce from, heading to the rink every time he could hear their room was more than a little occupied.  
Yūri wanted to cry. Not because he couldn’t figure out the programme, but because these feelings had brought up something brewing in him for a long, long time.

When Yūri was dealing with something, he tended to deal with it alone.  
He didn’t like people thinking he was weak, or that he couldn’t cope. That’s one of the reasons he wanted to be a competitive skater: to show people that he was capable. He was capable of doing _something_. He could make something of himself. He could be successful. He could cope. And that’s why it hurt so badly last year when he felt like he had failed.  
But now he had to deal with something publicly that he had been dealing with on his own for so many years: his sexuality.  
When he had first started thinking about it, Yūri didn’t think he had one. He would sit in school, reading skating magazines, whilst other boys around him would speak in hushed lewd whispers… about something they had seen on TV, about a magazine of their father’s they had found, and a little later, about the things that they had done. Yūri just simply wasn’t interested.  
There was a time when he had thought that maybe he liked Yuko. She was really pretty, after all. Nobody could deny that. And she was kind, and funny, and generous, and encouraging. But when he saw Nishigori with her, it felt different. He saw the way his cheeks would flush as soon as he turned his back after she gave him a compliment on his skating, he saw the way he would edge closer to her when they watched skating videos, he saw how he would use any excuse to playfully touch her, and how as they grew his teasing became playful and warm instead of hostile.  
Yūri wondered if he would ever be able to like anyone. If he didn’t even really like the prettiest and loveliest girl he knew (well, at least not in _that_ way), who _could_ he like? When he watched his peers start to form couples, when he watched Yuko start to accept Nishigori’s advances, there was something he noticed… people became _obsessed_ with each other. They only wanted to be around that person, only wanted to talk to that person, only seemed to care about that other person. Yūri had an obsession of his own, but it wasn’t like _that_. His was a celebrity obsession. That was different.  
As soon as Yūri laid eyes on Viktor Nikiforov, something had happened. “Isn’t he wonderful?” Yuko beamed, but Yūri didn’t think that captured it. As he watched his figure glide so effortlessly across the ice, his silver hair blowing in a ponytail behind him, all he could think was that he was looking at perfection. His world turned upside down. All that Yūri could ever want in his entire life was about to be realised: to be _him._ He wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to capture even an essence of the beauty that he saw in Viktor.

But he didn’t fancy him.

That wasn’t something he had ever even thought about.  
He didn’t think of Viktor in that way.  
He didn’t think of anyone in that way.  
In his youth, he didn’t even think that men _could_ think that way about other men.  
Now he was older he realised that that wasn’t true. Living in Detroit, he had met a lot of LGBT+ individuals, and his mind broadened. But he had never felt that way about anyone, man or woman. There was Viktor of course, but that wasn’t a case of _fancying_ someone, he was just an idol, someone he looked up to.

At least, that’s what he used to think. When Viktor was a fantasy, out of reach, a celebrity who didn’t know Yūri existed. And now he did, and he was coaching him, and he was _living_ in his family’s Inn! And Viktor wasn’t what Yūri expected at all.  
He had always thought he knew Viktor. He had watched and read every interview, memorised every performance, retained every tiny detail he had read about him. Viktor seemed warm and kind and humorous, but Yūri was sure it was a finely honed persona. He had been under public scrutiny since he was a boy, thrust into the spotlight so young. He handled it well. He was nice to his fans, he was patient with interviewers, he flirted with fangirls. But Yūri was sure that behind closed doors he couldn’t be like that. He couldn’t be so kind and nice and good-looking and… _perfect_. That was why Yūri struggled now.  
Viktor had arrived and introduced himself to Yūri completely naked. He had been comfortable falling asleep right there on the tatami in front of him. He had wanted to sleep with him the first night he was there just to get to know him. He was forward, but understood and gave Yūri space when he pulled back. He was patient while Yūri practiced the same jump over and over. Understanding when he put a foot out of place in a step sequence. All in all, he was everything Yūri could’ve expected… everything he could’ve _wanted_ … and more.  
But whether or not Yūri _liked_ him? It was irrelevant. Viktor was his coach. He was still untouchable. And he probably thought Yūri was an immature idiot.  
“Katsudon? _Really,_ Yuri?!” Yūri chastised himself, pulling a pillow over his face.

What turned Yūri on?

This was something he was going to have to figure out, or he would never be able to beat Yurio at Hot Springs on Ice. It had been evident today that Yurio had found his agape… so _why_ couldn’t Yūri find his Eros?

Okay.

Sexuality.

_Sex._

What did that mean to him?  
He’d never had it.  
Okay, no help.  
Yūri groaned into his pillow.  
He needed to do this.  
He needed to perfect his programme.  
He needed to figure this out.  
If he didn’t, he would lose.  
If he didn’t, Viktor would go back to Russia.

He reached behind him and flicked the switch to turn off the light.  
His fingers began to stroke lightly over his t-shirt. _Eros._  
He tweaked his nipple between thumb and forefinger. _Eros.  
_ He moved his hand down and ghosted his fingertips over his bulge. _Eros._

Yuri’s dick twitched.

He knew he had urges somewhere. He knew he had a sexuality. He knew he had Eros. Even Viktor seemed determined of it (the reason why, Yūri had no idea).  
All of these things Yūri knew, because as he got older and his body changed, it started to betray him. Sometimes he would just be doing nothing more than sat in his room, and find himself hard as a rock. Yūri had tried to ignore it for a long time, but one day his curiosity got the better of him, and _oh God yes_ it felt so good to touch himself, sat on the chair by his desk. Before he knew it, it became daily routine. Sometimes at his desk, sometimes lying in his bed. He would stroke his dick, hard and fast, and before he knew it, he would be biting back moans that tried to escape from his mouth, coming all over his abdomen.  
Yūri found himself painfully hard just thinking about it, his balls aching.  
He hadn’t done that since Viktor had arrived. Every night he got into bed, weary from the hard practice of the day, and usually fell asleep looking down at his phone.  
Now, Yūri allowed his hands to wander. He teased himself, brushing his fingers oh-so-lightly over his cock, as pre-cum leaked through his boxers. He tried to concentrate. What did he _think_ about when he did this?  
His fingers wrapped around his length over his boxers, beginning to pump down, still slowly. _Did_ he think about anything?  
Suddenly, a picture flashed through his mind. It was his favourite poster of Viktor; a close-up of his face whilst he skated, his chin raised, his jaw gorgeously defined, his eyelids heavy and expressive, his lips slightly parted, his fringe flowing softly away from his face.  
Yūri figured it must be a picture memory. Of course. The last time he touched himself, this poster took pride of place beside his bed. He must just be remembering it as something he was used to being there. But his dick pulsed in his hand, blood flowing full and fast.  
Yūri reached inside his boxers now, and touched himself in earnest. He shook the picture of Viktor’s face from his head, and quickened his pace. He bit down hard on his lip and closed his eyes, only to be greeted by the memory of a young Viktor skating, his hair falling freely over his shoulders. Yūri sighed in frustration but kept his pace. _Go away_. He needed to figure out his Eros, he didn’t want to be thinking about his coach right now.  
His stomach twisted and he was close, still unable to shake images of Viktor, memories of his posters, from his mind. He pulled his hand away and rolled onto his side quickly, pulling a pillow to his face to moan into it in frustration… both at the pain from the discontinued contact, and at never being able to figure out what he needed to skate how he wanted to.

He needed to cool down. He felt lightheaded. Yūri was pretty sure that all of the blood in his body had pooled into one spot, entirely too far away from his head, where he needed it. He waited for what felt like an eternity for his erection to subside. It stayed there, strained, begging to be touched, but he resisted.  
After a while it settled a little, and Yūri was able to stand up without pain. He pulled on his boxers and sweatpants, then checked his phone: 12:53. Entirely too late to be up the day before a competition, even if it was just a local show-down. He put on his glasses, slid open his door a little quietly (he knew everyone would be asleep), and padded gently down the hallway.  
Yuri’s room was in the far corner of the inn, far away from the patron’s rooms, and a floor below where his parents and Mari slept. The nearest room to him, a little down the corridor, had previously just been used for storage as it was no longer used as a banquet room. Now, it had been transformed. A plush double bed pushed against the window, sofas, a glass coffee table, a small bookshelf. It had been filled with beautiful things. Viktor’s things.  
Yūri noticed a beam of soft light falling into the darkened hallway, signalling that Viktor’s door was slightly open. He hoped that he would be asleep. He didn’t want to get an earful of how he should be sleeping right now and questioned as to why was he awake at this hour before he skated against Yurio tomorrow.  
Yūri tiptoed as quietly as he could, approaching the door, but there were sounds coming from within. He sighed inwardly, wondering why Viktor himself would be awake, but then recognised what he was hearing. The bedsheets were moving, being kicked off by the sounds of it, and Viktor was breathing heavily… it almost sounded like small moans. Viktor had slept so soundly the couple of times he had passed out in front of Yuri… he was upset at the thought that Viktor could be having a disturbing dream.  
Fighting all instincts that told him not to, Yūri approached the door frame and peeked through the slit in the door, open just a couple of inches.

He shouldn’t have.

Viktor was not sleeping.  
He was not lying on the bed.

Viktor was kneeling, facing at an angle to face the corner of the room, half turned away from Yuri. He was completely naked. But that wasn’t even the most shocking… the most fascinating… the most electric thing about this whole scenario.  
In his left hand, Viktor held his phone horizontally, watching a video intently and breathlessly.  
In his right, he held his cock, pumping with breathy sighs and occasionally a small, almost imperceptible moan.  
His shoulder blades were flushed, small beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck, and the muscles in his back and arms were tensed, moving in a suggestive way that Yūri couldn’t help but find attractive. Viktor’s penis was big, slightly less pale than the rest of his body, the head uncut and glowing pink, beading at the tip.  
Yūri was frozen. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.  
Viktor moved slightly, back onto his heels a little, and tipped his head back, moaning a little louder.

_Yūri felt his hardness press against the door frame where he stood._

“ _Ugh… ебня! Mmmmm… ебня”_ Viktor whispered, quickening his pace. He was no longer watching whatever he had been on his phone, but kept his face angled to the ceiling, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure. His left arm dropped lazily to the side.

_When had Yūri started touching himself?_

The muscles in Viktor’s ass clenched together as he thrust upwards into his right hand, his left hand still clutched tightly around his phone even though he was no longer looking at it. Viktor quickly spat into his right hand, then returned it to his dick, thrusting up into his fist with a loud slicking noise now.

Yūri replicated the movement, moving his saliva-d hand quickly over himself faster than before, reaching deep into his sweatpants and holding his breath as hard as he could.

Viktor was fucking his own fist now. Full, sharp thrusts as he panted and moaned Russian curses into the air above him. Sweat dripped down the curves of his back and he threw his phone behind him on the bed before clutching and pulling at his own hair with his left hand.

Yūri closed his eyes as his stomach twisted. He was about to come right here in the doorway, watching his idol and coach fuck himself shamelessly on his bed as Yūri watched voyeuristically. He opened his eyes to catch another glimpse, and instead his gaze fell on the phone.

It was Yūri skating to Stay Close to Me.

 _“Yuuurrriiii!”  
_ Viktor half screamed, half whispered as come poured over his hand. He aimed his dick inwards toward his abdomen, probably attempting to spare the sheets, where the rest of it landed in white beads across the smooth skin of his belly.

Yūri turned quickly, pushing his back against the wall to the side of Viktor’s bedroom door in the hall, and came hard into his own fist, biting down on his lip and sure he was drawing blood. His balls tightened and he felt tears escaping from his eyes as he rode out wave upon wave of the orgasm, feeling his come soaking his underwear.  
When he was sure he was done, and took a few seconds to silently still his breathing, he peeked over his shoulder once again to make sure he had been undetected. Viktor was stood at the side of the bed now, wiping himself down with a pale blue towel, completely incognisant of his student’s presence. Yūri tiptoed down the hallway back to his room once again.

He didn’t have time to think.  
All the emotions he had been suppressing, or rather dismissing, were true.  
It was Viktor. It had always been Viktor.  
And Viktor… was attracted to him?

“ _Viktor came here because he chose you, Yuri! You brought him here!”_

Minako’s words played in his head.

So this is what his Eros was, then. He understood.  
He had heard whispers that people were mad that Viktor Nikiforov wasn’t skating this season, mad that a lesser-known Japanese skater had taken him off the ice to be his coach.

 _Fine_.

If people were going to be mad at him, he was going to get something out of it.

He was going to make Viktor _his_.

 

****************

 

The door buzzed. She rolled over, sure it was her imagination.  
It buzzed again. That was definitely the door. Who the fuck was buzzing her door at this hour?

“Oh, come on! Who is it?”

As she rose and pulled on her robe, it hit her. Yuri.  
She pulled open the door.

“Eh? You want to practice in my studio this late at night?” Minako asked, tired and annoyed.

“Minako-sensei, I need you to teach me something. I want you to teach me how to move in feminine ways.”

“Huh?” she asked. She didn’t understand. He wanted to move like a woman?

“Trying to be the playboy isn’t me. I want to be the most beautiful woman in town, who seduces the playboy! I won’t drastically change any moves, but I think this is a lot closer to how I feel.”

Her face twitched into a smile of understanding. She had been watching this boy fight himself over his feelings for most of his life. She watched him struggle with self-confidence. She watched him rebut girls’ advances. She watched his face light up whenever he saw Viktor on TV.

_So, Yuri. You finally figured it out, huh?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> "ебня" - Fuck


End file.
